


Mercy

by Wagnetic



Series: Tutelary AU [1]
Category: The Eagle of the Ninth - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Tutelary AU, Yuletide 2017, like a daemon au but a little pretentious, take your pick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 23:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12781866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wagnetic/pseuds/Wagnetic
Summary: Marcus's first glimpse Esca, Cottia, and their tutelaries





	Mercy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegirlwiththemouseyhair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththemouseyhair/gifts).



> Much thanks to Onceuponatmi for being a spectacular beta and to Sineala and Lysimache for teaching me about tutelaries!
> 
> Tutelaries (or tutelary deities, or tutelars) are essentially the Ancient Roman version of daemons. They're not exactly alike, but they're similar enough that I decided to merge the two. Unlike the His Dark Materials daemons, Ancient Roman tutelaries didn't have names. A man's tutelary was called his Genius and a woman's was called her Juno.

Marcus was grateful that his Genius stayed on his shoulder as they traveled to the amphitheatre. She had preferred flying over perching ever since she had settled into the form of a raven and Marcus knew it was hard on her to see open space and remain grounded after their long convalescence. It was embarrassing enough to ride in the litter without adding the hurt of watching his Genius fly free while he was trapped.

“It is a great kindness that you ride with me,” Marcus said.

“You know well I could not leave your side without causing both of us harm,” his Genius said. Marcus smiled fondly before a jolt changed it to a grimace.

“Someday you will learn to accept gratitude with grace.”

His Genius perched on his shoulder out of necessity as they entered the amphitheatre itself, for it was too crowded for her to go anywhere else. Marcus watched the crowd as he was helped to his seat beside his uncle, more out of the need for distraction than out of interest, for his leg was stiff and aching after sitting for so long. Marcus did not like to see the eager looks here any more than he had liked to see them in Rome. He did not mind the beast shows, though his Genius objected to them, and he even enjoyed the sham fights when they were done well. What he hated was the death matches.

“Look at the bloodthirsty lot in the stands,” Marcus’s Genius murmured to him.

“We are well acquainted with death.”

“We have brought death in war. That is not the same as watching a man die for the entertainment of spectators.” Marcus’s Genius fluttered her wings, though she had nowhere to go. “And it is necessary in war,” she added, “but it is not easy.”

Marcus remembered Cradoc’s face, smiling as they hunted, then grim as he held his father’s spear. He remembered Cradoc’s face still, his body lifeless next to the mass of hawk feathers that had once been his Genius. Cradoc had called her Senuna, for the British named their tutelaries, and somehow it was the memory of Senuna and Marcus’s Genius preening one another that Marcus remembered most. It struck him that a Genius often expressed what a man could not. Or, he thought ruefully, what a man knew would only cause him pain in the end.

“Uncle wished to attend the games,” Marcus said, “and after all the generosity he has shown us, how could I possibly say no? We are here now and must make the best of it.” His Genius did not grace him with a response.

The tension between them was broken with curiosity at the arrival of a family shuffling in to their right. The man and woman did not interest Marcus much, but the girl with them did. Her Juno switched restlessly from a little wildcat to a kestrel but settled in her lap as a fox when she sat. The two looked very alike with their pointed faces and golden eyes. At Marcus’s silent inquiry, Uncle Aquila explained that the man was a Magistrate called Kaeso and the woman was his wife, Valaria, but he did not have time to tell Marcus who the girl was before the gladiatorial procession began.

Then all of Marcus’s attention was fixed on a man with a sword and buckler in the arena below. He radiated defiance in spite of his clipped ear, and he bore the tattoos of a warrior, yet his Genius was in the shape of a hound, as though he were a man born to servitude. Her ear was clipped too, and she had the wild, shaggy look of a British cur, but she held herself with a regal bearing Marcus would not have expected from such an inelegant Genius. There was nothing servile in the manner of either of them.

“They are afraid,” Marcus’s Genius said.

“I do not think so,” Marcus began to say, but then the swordsman’s eyes met his. The young man’s eyes were grey and fierce like steel, but they were not the eyes of a man prepared for battle. “Yes, they are.”

Throughout the beast fight, the golden-eyed girl was still, her Juno burying his face in her shoulder in distress.

“The Magistrate and his wife should never have brought them here,” Marcus’s Genius said in his ear. She spoke loudly to be heard over the cheers of the crowd as the bear brought down a wolf.

“No, they should not.”

“So much pain and fear today, and for what gain?” she said.

“You have always been too sensitive to the beast-shows,” Marcus said, more for the sake of holding the conversation than out of actual disagreement. It was the fight to the death he was dreading. The swordsman would be there, he was sure. There was no mock-fight that could put that look in a warrior’s eyes. The bear brought down another wolf and Marcus saw that while the girl’s face stayed frozen, she and her Juno both flinched. At that moment Marcus hated Kaeso and his wife very much.

The girl and her Juno calmed somewhat when the beast-show ended, but Marcus grew more and more agitated as the sham fight and boxing match proceeded without the presence of the swordsman. He realized, much to his frustration, that he had been holding out some irrational hope that he had been wrong and the swordsman would be spared the fight to the death.

But Marcus had not been mistaken. Once the arena was cleaned, the doors opened and the gladiators marched out. It was the young swordsman and a net fighter. Uncle Aquila grumbled at the unfair match, but Marcus’s eyes were fixed on the sand below.

The gladiators’ Genii, the hound and a lynx, were lead in on chains and forced roughly into cages just separated from one another, where they would be unable to do anything but watch. The lynx Genius went to her cage with an even gait that showed she and the gladiator had done this before and were confident in the routine of it. The hound Genius hesitated and looked back at the swordsman, and a handler shoved her in with his bare hands, as one would only do to a slave’s tutelary. Marcus saw the swordsman’s lips move and he realized the man was speaking to his Genius.

“He is saying goodbye,” Marcus’s Genius said, and Marcus could only nod.

The swordsman fought well. He had the swift movements of a hunter and it served him for a time as he darted in to strike at the Fisher, then dodged out of the net fighter’s reach. The swordsman gave chase and nearly struck again, but then the net was upon him. He landed just before the bench where Marcus sat, seeming close enough to touch. Marcus watched in horror as the man struggled for a moment, then forced his body still.

The swordsman’s breath huffed from exertion and fear as he looked to the faces of the crowd and found nothing to encourage him. He began to raise his arm to gesture for mercy and Marcus nearly let go of the breath caught in his own chest, but then the swordsman let his arm fall.

His gaze fell on Marcus, and Marcus saw the same pride and the same fear he’d seen in the procession. Some feeling that Marcus could not name crashed over him: fierce and warm at once. It hurt to rise to his feet, but he clutched the railing and stood firm.

“He has made his choice,” Marcus’s Genius said. “Would you take that from him?” 

“Yes.” Marcus made the sign for mercy again and again as though the life that hung in the balance was his own. He looked into those grey eyes and knew, with the strange clarity that could come in moments of great peril, that in some way it was.


End file.
